The past days of stealing kisses, longing glances and moon eyed stares at each other have been lovely in a way that makes her keep wondering if it might all be a dream, but she's not built to stay inside for days on end. One late morning Harley decides it's time for them to go out, and doesn't even scoff at his outfit this time.
She finally makes good on her promise to take him to a bookstore, and lets him take as much time as he likes without a fuss. She wanders while he delves into the books on offer, occasionally coming back to read over his shoulder or show him a saucy passage from a bodice ripper. Anything he lingers over or sets aside is taken to the counter where she actually pays for things, in deference to his better morals.
Harley beams as she shows off her best find so far. It's a shameless smut extravaganza called Night Lessons at the Wizard's Tower and apparently part of a quite prolific series.
"Maybe it is about me. How do you know I didn't write it?" he answers, his expression cheerful (as it often is in bookstores) but giving nothing away. "I've had a lot more free time these past few months. I could have decided to write something autobiographical, and changed the names because it was too scandalous"
She cages him against the bookshelf with her arms and there's a flash of something in her eyes. He can probably now recognize that look as one of I want to fuck you right here and now. Her gaze lingers on his lips and drags down his body.
"Is that so? Then we'd better get started on your next installment."
Despite the way she can so easily make all the blood leave his brain to rush south, the gaze he follows her with is soft and puppyish, adoring.
"How can one be fully satisfied in so little time?" he answers, despite the fact it has not in any way been a short amount of time. "But yes, I suppose I'm content, for now."
They're still in the honeymoon stage of a new relationship, and she wants to be on good behavior. That is the only reason she does not comment on how little time it would take her to fully satisfy him.
She adds Night Lessons at the Wizard's Tower to her own meager stack, joining a book on cosmetic spells that might have a lead on tattoo removal and a book on some very interesting applications for magic in the bedroom, slips her hand on the crook of his elbow, and guides him to the counter where all the books she's set aside for him take up every inch of surface area.
"This might be enough reading to get you through the week."
She takes his arm, but she's the one leading, and he doesn't mind that at all.
"I rather think it will. Someone has been distracting me from my reading," he replies, lifting a brow and grinning at her. He's not shy about looking at the books she's chosen for herself, smiling and then blushing (though the smile doesn't go anywhere). "At least that should be another riveting entry in the book club." The club of two people. "And where does our itinerary take us next?"
Gale is always imagining how many more books he could have had.
When she makes this request, his insides clench for just a moment, an
instinctual fear making him want to run home, away from open spaces and
crowds. Hey presence is a balm, bolstering him without even needing to say
anything. "Alright. I can't say no when you're already obliged my request.
Are you looking for anything in particular?" If she is, he'll go to the
ends of the world to find it -- or at least the ends of the market, but
that's still saying a lot.
Harley slips her hand in his and squeezes his fingers. She leans into him and noses beneath his heart, briefly kissing his jaw.
"I'll know it when I see it. And I'm sure there will be some magic items so we can stock up."
Harley can blend in with a crowd when she makes the effort to dress down, and Gale's aversion to the public would be incentive to do so ... Except that Gale is the former Chosen of Mystra in the most wizardly city and a beard is not enough cover for such a well known figure. Instead, she aims for dazzle camouflage. When all eyes are on her, he can have a reprieve from scrutiny.
They hold hands all the way to the market, with Harley staring down anyone that looks at Gale with too much curiosity. If any fellow wizard is fool enough to try and start a conversation, he may have to actually hold her back.
Even as clever as he is, Gale doesn't realize what Harley is doing at first. She would be as lovely dressed as a beggar as she would be as a queen, so it's no matter to him when she decides to adorn herself so ostentatiously.
It doesn't occur to them until they're already in the market, when he notices two people he thinks he might recognize from Blackstaff whispering behind their hands as they peek at him. He slows and unconsciously hunches his shoulders in to make himself smaller. He feels like some giant is holding a magnifying glass above him, focusing the rays of the sun right on him. Or maybe that's just the burning of his cheeks. Before he can suggest that they turn around and run home, Harley positions herself between him and his spectators, shining like an angler fish's lure -- come closer and get bitten, if you dare.
The onlookers decide they don't dare, and move on.
Harley watches them retreat from the corner of her eye and doesn't relax until they slip out of sight. She tightens her hold on his arm, refusing to let him shrink in on himself.
"Oh, look!" She gasps in delight at a cart of luxury goods and darts over for a closer look. Her fingers brush over a bolt of delicate fabric that shifts from stormy gray and glimmering purple in the light. "You need something made from this!"
As always, she is his lighthouse, guiding him through the storms in his
head. The urge to run home and hide, to bury himself in astral illusions,
isn't entirely gone, but it is lessened, and he smiles at her, happy to
follow her over to the vendor selling fabrics.
"Do I?" he asks, eyebrows raising. It's not that he's opposed, precisely.
Gale usually wears well made clothes, but when they have any flair, it's
more subtle, like embroidery along hems. "Where would I wear it? Seems a
bit thin for a housecoat. If we go to the market with me dressed in that,
you'd have to add bells and flashing lights to your ensemble if you want to
keep shielding me."
She unrolls a length off the bolt and drapes it over his shoulder. The fabric is finely woven and soft as a cloud. She bites her lip at the sight of him. There's that look in her eyes again.
"You need this," she repeats. It's entirely self indulgent. She doesn't expect to let him out of the bedroom whenever he wears this.
It feels a little silly, being draped in fineries when his hair and beard desperately need to be trimmed, but with Harley, it's a fun sort of silly. "I'll wear a coat made of poison oak if it will keep you looking at me like that," he replies, grinning. She makes him feel handsome again. She makes him feel wanted. Even if he'll only ever wear it at home, it can be a house coat fit for a king.
"Now, what will we pick out for you, to go with it?" He doesn't have a keen eye for fashion, but enjoys looking at the colors, feeling the fabric textures. He holds up a deep, rich sapphire velvet that compliments her eyes and makes her look even more like a marble statue. "Bit hot out still, for velvet." He holds up the next fabric, powder blue and pale pink diamonds. "Harlequin pattern is a bit on the nose, hm?" The last fabric he picks up is a silk damask that shines like it might literally be woven from gold. He drapes it over her shoulder, as she had done for him, but just shrugs. The problem is, he thinks she looks equally beautiful in every one of them. "Alas, a sense for fashion never numbered amongst my considerable skills."
He is handsome, she does want him, and they both look very silly with one of them scruffy and one of them overdressed draping each other in fabric at the market.
She touches the silk carefully and admires the gleaming threads. Now that their fabric choices are close together, the combination makes her think of sun and storm clouds.
"Gale." She takes both his hands and sinks to her knee. "It's been a week."
Gale's eyebrows lift, but he's not exactly surprised. She had been
proposing to him before they had even admitted any romantic feelings, so it
was only a matter of time before she asked again. Her choice in location is
unexpected — she'd gone from shielding him to dressing attention — but what
is Harley if not a paradox.
"Has it already been a week? It feels like but a moment, when I would spend
eternity by your side." He may not be over the top on the same way that she
is, but never let it be said that he doesn't have a sense of showmanship.
He takes back one of his hands so that he can reach inside his pocket and
produce a little box with a flourish. "I suppose that means it's time that
I give you this..."
His knees hit the dust harder than he'd like — he'll be feeling that
tomorrow — but he laughs anyway. "Now, you don't even know what manner of
trinket is inside the box yet! Perhaps you'll allow me a moment for it's
presentation?"
Her hands grab his thighs and she tips forward to interrupt him again with a fierce kiss. She licks heated promises into his mouth until she runs out of breath. They've definitely caught attention now, especially the merchant of the fabrics they haven't yet paid for.
Harley draws the shimmering fabric up from his shoulders until it drapes over both of them. A secret place for just him and her.
"Okay," she says with breathless anticipation. "Go."
He kisses her back, face absolutely burning up. He's pretty sure he can
feel people staring. The feeling does not go away with the fabric over
their heads, and the sheer fabric allows enough light through for her to
still be able to see his flushed face.
"People probably think us absolutely mad," he points out, but he's
grinning. "Are you sure you don't want to go home for this? I've been
working on a very moving sonnet..." Is he teasing? It's hard to tell.
Harley looks around at the crowd waiting for the show to play out, blurred and shaded through the makeshift curtain, then ducks her head. She studies her hands, pressed to the tops of his thighs, her thumbs stroking little arcs.
"You're not ready," she says. "That's okay. I'll ask next week."
She leans forward again to kiss another promise into his skin.
It's that he really is working on a sonnet, and it's going to be
exceptional.
It's that the crowd is slowly filling him up with panic like sand in an
hourglass, and what happens when all the grains run out?
It's that his last attempt at a romantic gesture brought him to ruin.
It's that he's dying and he's terrified of what that means.
Particularly for her.
As he kisses her, one of his hands finds hers and places the little box
into it. "If things were different, I swear I would do this all better. But
all the same, I want you to have this, a promise of a future together. You
are my lighthouse in the darkness, and I would surely sink without you. I
love you, never doubt that for a moment."
Her fingers curl around the box and her other hand grasps his wrist, her thumb pressing lightly against his pulse.
"I know that," she says between kisses. She presses her forehead against his and breathes him in. "This is perfect, because it's you. It's us. Ours." She tucks the box next to her heart. "Let's go home. I'll make a really bad dinner while you work on your sonnet, and then you can open the box for me and I'll say yes as many times as you want to hear it. Every day, for the rest of our lives."
She takes a moment to bask in their private bubble, before having to burst it. "Also, I gotta hurry up and pay for all this fabric that we've been rolling around in."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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She finally makes good on her promise to take him to a bookstore, and lets him take as much time as he likes without a fuss. She wanders while he delves into the books on offer, occasionally coming back to read over his shoulder or show him a saucy passage from a bodice ripper. Anything he lingers over or sets aside is taken to the counter where she actually pays for things, in deference to his better morals.
Harley beams as she shows off her best find so far. It's a shameless smut extravaganza called Night Lessons at the Wizard's Tower and apparently part of a quite prolific series.
"This one is about you, isn't it?"
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"Is that so? Then we'd better get started on your next installment."
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Were he a little younger, and a little less volatile, he might even consider her unspoken offer.
"You should buy that book, we'll read it together." Instead, their intimacy has to take other forms.
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She presses a soft, sweet kiss to his jaw before moving to stand next to him instead of trapping him.
"Are you almost satisfied? I think you've combed through nearly every shelf and I'm getting jealous of the books."
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"How can one be fully satisfied in so little time?" he answers, despite the fact it has not in any way been a short amount of time. "But yes, I suppose I'm content, for now."
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She adds Night Lessons at the Wizard's Tower to her own meager stack, joining a book on cosmetic spells that might have a lead on tattoo removal and a book on some very interesting applications for magic in the bedroom, slips her hand on the crook of his elbow, and guides him to the counter where all the books she's set aside for him take up every inch of surface area.
"This might be enough reading to get you through the week."
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"I rather think it will. Someone has been distracting me from my reading," he replies, lifting a brow and grinning at her. He's not shy about looking at the books she's chosen for herself, smiling and then blushing (though the smile doesn't go anywhere). "At least that should be another riveting entry in the book club." The club of two people. "And where does our itinerary take us next?"
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She counts out coins and begins the long process of packing the books into her bag of holding. Imagine how many more books he could have had today.
"I want to go to the marketplace. I heard a new merchant caravan came through."
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"I suspect you don't really want that at all."
Gale is always imagining how many more books he could have had.
When she makes this request, his insides clench for just a moment, an instinctual fear making him want to run home, away from open spaces and crowds. Hey presence is a balm, bolstering him without even needing to say anything. "Alright. I can't say no when you're already obliged my request. Are you looking for anything in particular?" If she is, he'll go to the ends of the world to find it -- or at least the ends of the market, but that's still saying a lot.
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"I'll know it when I see it. And I'm sure there will be some magic items so we can stock up."
Harley can blend in with a crowd when she makes the effort to dress down, and Gale's aversion to the public would be incentive to do so ... Except that Gale is the former Chosen of Mystra in the most wizardly city and a beard is not enough cover for such a well known figure. Instead, she aims for dazzle camouflage. When all eyes are on her, he can have a reprieve from scrutiny.
They hold hands all the way to the market, with Harley staring down anyone that looks at Gale with too much curiosity. If any fellow wizard is fool enough to try and start a conversation, he may have to actually hold her back.
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It doesn't occur to them until they're already in the market, when he notices two people he thinks he might recognize from Blackstaff whispering behind their hands as they peek at him. He slows and unconsciously hunches his shoulders in to make himself smaller. He feels like some giant is holding a magnifying glass above him, focusing the rays of the sun right on him. Or maybe that's just the burning of his cheeks. Before he can suggest that they turn around and run home, Harley positions herself between him and his spectators, shining like an angler fish's lure -- come closer and get bitten, if you dare.
The onlookers decide they don't dare, and move on.
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"Oh, look!" She gasps in delight at a cart of luxury goods and darts over for a closer look. Her fingers brush over a bolt of delicate fabric that shifts from stormy gray and glimmering purple in the light. "You need something made from this!"
no subject
As always, she is his lighthouse, guiding him through the storms in his head. The urge to run home and hide, to bury himself in astral illusions, isn't entirely gone, but it is lessened, and he smiles at her, happy to follow her over to the vendor selling fabrics.
"Do I?" he asks, eyebrows raising. It's not that he's opposed, precisely. Gale usually wears well made clothes, but when they have any flair, it's more subtle, like embroidery along hems. "Where would I wear it? Seems a bit thin for a housecoat. If we go to the market with me dressed in that, you'd have to add bells and flashing lights to your ensemble if you want to keep shielding me."
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"You need this," she repeats. It's entirely self indulgent. She doesn't expect to let him out of the bedroom whenever he wears this.
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"Now, what will we pick out for you, to go with it?" He doesn't have a keen eye for fashion, but enjoys looking at the colors, feeling the fabric textures. He holds up a deep, rich sapphire velvet that compliments her eyes and makes her look even more like a marble statue. "Bit hot out still, for velvet." He holds up the next fabric, powder blue and pale pink diamonds. "Harlequin pattern is a bit on the nose, hm?" The last fabric he picks up is a silk damask that shines like it might literally be woven from gold. He drapes it over her shoulder, as she had done for him, but just shrugs. The problem is, he thinks she looks equally beautiful in every one of them. "Alas, a sense for fashion never numbered amongst my considerable skills."
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She touches the silk carefully and admires the gleaming threads. Now that their fabric choices are close together, the combination makes her think of sun and storm clouds.
"Gale." She takes both his hands and sinks to her knee. "It's been a week."
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Gale's eyebrows lift, but he's not exactly surprised. She had been proposing to him before they had even admitted any romantic feelings, so it was only a matter of time before she asked again. Her choice in location is unexpected — she'd gone from shielding him to dressing attention — but what is Harley if not a paradox.
"Has it already been a week? It feels like but a moment, when I would spend eternity by your side." He may not be over the top on the same way that she is, but never let it be said that he doesn't have a sense of showmanship. He takes back one of his hands so that he can reach inside his pocket and produce a little box with a flourish. "I suppose that means it's time that I give you this..."
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She says it way too loud and now anyone in hearing range is definitely looking at them.
"Gale!" She laughs and pulls him down to the ground with her.
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His knees hit the dust harder than he'd like — he'll be feeling that tomorrow — but he laughs anyway. "Now, you don't even know what manner of trinket is inside the box yet! Perhaps you'll allow me a moment for it's presentation?"
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Harley draws the shimmering fabric up from his shoulders until it drapes over both of them. A secret place for just him and her.
"Okay," she says with breathless anticipation. "Go."
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He kisses her back, face absolutely burning up. He's pretty sure he can feel people staring. The feeling does not go away with the fabric over their heads, and the sheer fabric allows enough light through for her to still be able to see his flushed face.
"People probably think us absolutely mad," he points out, but he's grinning. "Are you sure you don't want to go home for this? I've been working on a very moving sonnet..." Is he teasing? It's hard to tell.
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"You're not ready," she says. "That's okay. I'll ask next week."
She leans forward again to kiss another promise into his skin.
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"It's not that."
It's that he really is working on a sonnet, and it's going to be exceptional. It's that the crowd is slowly filling him up with panic like sand in an hourglass, and what happens when all the grains run out? It's that his last attempt at a romantic gesture brought him to ruin. It's that he's dying and he's terrified of what that means. Particularly for her.
As he kisses her, one of his hands finds hers and places the little box into it. "If things were different, I swear I would do this all better. But all the same, I want you to have this, a promise of a future together. You are my lighthouse in the darkness, and I would surely sink without you. I love you, never doubt that for a moment."
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"I know that," she says between kisses. She presses her forehead against his and breathes him in. "This is perfect, because it's you. It's us. Ours." She tucks the box next to her heart. "Let's go home. I'll make a really bad dinner while you work on your sonnet, and then you can open the box for me and I'll say yes as many times as you want to hear it. Every day, for the rest of our lives."
She takes a moment to bask in their private bubble, before having to burst it. "Also, I gotta hurry up and pay for all this fabric that we've been rolling around in."
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